Listening to Of Montreal is like taking a stroll through the Oxford English Dictionary with The Beatles. Pressing play with the band's new CD in your Discman will cause a fantastic explosion of Sergeant Pepper, disarmingly obscure words, and psych-pop melodies.
Of Montreal has been around since 1997, formed after the demise of founder Kevin Barnes's relationship with a woman from the Canadian city referenced in the band's moniker. Following a few adjustments, additions, and subtractions, the current version of the band settled down in 1999 and has been recording and touring ever since.
It should be noted, if only to set the stage, that Of Montreal is wacky. If it is any sort of indication, the band's 2000 release is titled "Horse and Elephant Eatery (No Elephants Allowed)." Their cover art is distinctive, combining art deco flourishes with bold, kitschy colors and outlandish figures.
The music found inside closely resembles this vigor and pizzazz. In many ways the tracks sound like '60s pop music. Then again, The Beach Boys never waxed poetic with words such as "The magnetic roller-skate wears a bonnet of blue" and "David stopped arguing with a mime and waved his arms like wheat."
Indeed, it is the band's lyrical content and song structure that sets them far apart from any of their influences or contemporaries. Of Montreal is not a band terribly keen on the typical verse-chorus-verse structure. Many tracks resemble sing-song narratives about charmingly alliterative characters such as Mimi Merlot, Detective Dulllight, and Erik Eckles.
Certainly a man inspired to name his band after a lost love is capable of introspective verses. As he so often does on previous releases, Barnes infuses his otherwise poppy, sometimes-ridiculous album with a smattering of contemplative and somber tracks.
"Satanic Panic in the Attic" is Of Montreal's sixth release, and their perfect blend of maturity, immaturity, and creativity shines through on the album.
"Eros' Entropic Tundra" focuses on a character's musings that meaningful love continues to elude him. The next track, "City Bird," reflects, no doubt metaphorically, on a bird's presence in a bustling, jostling city.
However, by and large, Of Montreal's songs are just plain fun. The band has left its narrative structure behind for a more melodic, euphonious sound. Unlike past endeavors, where the peculiarity of the music almost demanded the listener's full attention, the songs of "Satanic Panic in the Attic" are able to function as pleasant background music or as the centerpiece.
The quirkiness of the band has hardly subsided, and true to form, the four-and-a-half-minute opening track consists of only four (again, that's four) repeated lines accompanied by hand claps, a drum machine, and a synthesizer.
Luckily, the album only gets stranger, and the remaining tracks are a romp through Barnes's creative and outlandish story lines and similes, complete with his seemingly inescapable references to butterflies.
It is almost impossible not to swoon for the incredibly imaginative lyrics as Barnes tells his ladylove in the song "Rapture Rapes the Muses," "You keep me lit like antediluvian Troy."
Clearly, the singer traffics in words. But rather than clamoring for the dictionary, the listener is advised to stay in their supine position. It will, you see, be difficult to gather oneself after Barnes has delivered lines such as "To sing this song in braille/You need to be haunted by glass freckles/And if your color treatment fails/Well you can always talk to Erik Eckles."
No doubt, Barnes's lyrics and stunning vocabulary continue to both impress and confuse the listener throughout the album. Words such as "vertiginous," "lysergic," and "opalescent" are sung without the slightest of trip-ups, and the listener may need to scan the scene to make certain he is not in fact at the National Spelling Bee.
In the case of Of Montreal, it is entirely appropriate to judge an album by its cover. "Satanic Panic in the Attic" features fantastic winged creatures, a Sergeant Pepper-esque gathering of antique and mythical characters, and a burst of primary colors. This artwork, also the creation of frontman Kevin Barnes, is perfectly indicative of the merriment and eccentricity contained within the package.
So indie-rockers rejoice. Of Montreal has finally provided you with a complete album you can pop in without having your Coldplay-listening friends shoot you a bewildered and uneasy glance. And luckily, in the words of Barnes, it is also "nefariously hip. Wickedly hip."
